Show Me Your Teeth
by Circa Soigne
Summary: Dr. Hermione Granger, is a talkative, frizzy haired dentist who learns from the heartless, lollipop lovin' Tom Riddle that having a sweet tooth doesn't always lead to cavities... Unless it actually does; in which case you should promptly contact your doctor and make an appointment. AU/Tomione.
1. Part One

**A/N:** Hello loves! This idea randomly popped into my head as I was trying to sleep one night and I literally had to jump out the blankets, start up my laptop, rush to find my charger because I had 1% remaining, and then I jotted this down before the idea left me. I don't know how this is gonna turn out, but I plan for the chapters to be pretty short. This isn't supposed to be a full blown story, just something short and sweet.

Tell me what you think! If this is a horrible idea and I need to stop, tell me now or forever hold your peace!

* * *

 _Part One_

 **Just Grin and Bear It**

* * *

It all started on a Tuesday afternoon. Hermione had just finished removing the decayed tissue on young Terry Boot's back molar - number fifteen to be exact - with her handy air abrasion tool. She proceeded to clean the tooth of any remaining debris and then managed to get the ceramic filling in place. Breathing softly through her blue, paper thin surgical mask, Hermione quickly cleaned and polished the tooth. She pushed away from the bored looking teen in her leather swivel chair to the counter, the wheels rolling against the smooth tiled floor, and set up a yellow mouth tray for a fluoride treatment. Swiveling back to her patient's side, Hermione placed the tray full of foam into his mouth.

"Bite," she told him gently and he immediately secured the tray in his mouth. While Terry laid on the reclined seat of the dental chair, Hermione flicked the large light off and pushed it away from his face. He blinked several times to adjust to loss of the blinding light and watched Hermione as she carefully put away all the tools and equipment she had used for this visit. After a couple minutes of briskly cleaning the station, Hermione returned her attention to Terry. He unclenched his jaw from the yellow tray and she removed it from his mouth, pointedly throwing it and his blue bib in the rubbish bin.

"You're all done here Terry," Hermione announced, removing the mask from her face, "The numbness in your gums will go away in an hour or so. Also, it would be best if you refrain from rinsing your mouth and eating or drinking anything for the next thirty minutes so the fluoride can set in."

The dark haired teen nodded in understanding. He was one of her older patients, so he knew the drill.

"And this is for you," she said, handing over a small plastic bag consisting of a brand new toothbrush, a travel sized bottle of spearmint toothpaste, and a container of waxed tooth floss, "Be sure to take care of your teeth, Terry! We don't want any more cavities, do we? Brush twice a day and remember to floss. Do this and we won't have to see you again for another six months."

Terry nodded again and quietly thanked her, leaving the room with his new teeth cleaning supplies in his hand.

Hermione sighed and left for her office to finish up some paperwork.

She loved her job. She really did. Following in her parent's footsteps, dentistry was an area that she found herself immensely interested and passionate about. Having good oral health was important and having a pretty smile never hurt anyone. Instead of taking over her parent's private practice in Connecticut, Hermione opened up her own in upstate New York where she had went to school. Hermione thought that this was the best decision she had ever made - her paychecks were bountiful, her hours were extremely flexible, and she was kept busy all day. It was definitely better than having her lovable, yet annoying perfectionist parents breathe down her neck, watching her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake.

 _Psshh._

As if Hermione Granger _made_ mistakes!

 _Ha!_

The absurdity!

But that's beside the point.

The point _is_ that Hermione loved her job. Loved the busywork. And she loved that she got to set her own hours. She loved that from nine to five, she spends her time fixing people's smiles. The best part was that after five, she was free to clear her thoughts of work and enjoy the remainder of her evening.

Well, that _used_ to be the best part.

Now, Hermione dreaded it.

For the past three weeks, she was forced to use the majority of her time after work helping one Miss Lavender Brown plan her wedding to Hermione's ex-boyfriend, Ronald Weasley. She liked to tell herself that she wasn't upset that Ronald was not even phased when she suggested they break up during one of their many arguments. Yeah, their on-again-off-again relationship could have only been described as destructive, but Hermione _surely_ wasn't bitter that Lavender, someone she previously considered a friend, had slept with Ronald a month after their relationship ended and announced three months later that they were engaged to be married. Of course Hermione was simply _ecstatic_ to congratulate the couple on their upcoming nuptials and was even _more_ than stoked to find out that her lovely blonde bitch of a backstabbing friend wanted Hermione to be one of her bridesmaids.

Brilliant!

How marvelous!

How wonderfuly.

How magnificent.

Fantastic, truly.

Just. Fucking. _Brilliant._

Being Lavender's good friend of two years, naturally, Hermione accepted the offer. As expected, Lavender was over the moon that Hermione had forgiven her and gotten over any ill-will towards her after she hid the fact that she was sleeping with her ex so soon after their breakup.

"Thanks Hermy!" the idiot blonde had squealed, crushing the wild haired woman in a tight hug, "I thought for sure you would say no since you and Ron had a thing not too long ago."

 _A thing?_ Well if you considered a four year relationship that started with passion and ended with disgust and anger just a _thing_ , then yeah. They had a _thing_. But Hermione had had to remind herself that that thing was over now and that she was better off without it. Hell, she was the one who wanted to break up in the first place! It was just highly irritating that someone that she had considered a friend would hop on her ex so quickly and he would just forget ever being with her. It's not like she slaved over a stove every night to make him dinner before he got home even though she worked that morning too, or that she helped him pop those embarrassingly red puss filled pimples on his back because he couldn't reach, or dealt with his nosy mother who she caught trying to steal her birth control so that she could have grandkids by next year. It's not like he appreciated anything she ever did for him. It's not like she gave him her all only to receive 20% of his.

But once again, that is beside the point.

The point here is that Terry Boot was her last patient of the day and that in one hour she had to head over to The Burrow where Lavender required all of her bridesmaids to help her pick out color swatches for wedding.

Standing up from the cushioned leather of her desk chair, Hermione resigned herself to fact her evening was going to be spent deciding between regal rose with creamsicle and pink pirouette with mantis green. She shrugged out of her white coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner of the room. Gathering her belongings on her desk, Hermione headed to reception. She stopped at the Formica countertop and her pretty receptionist, Cho Chang, looked up blankly from the mess of files on the desk.

"I'm heading out," Hermione informed her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"Sorry, but you can't just yet," Cho replied, looking over her shoulder through the glass window that viewed the inside of the waiting room, "Some man just showed up and demanded to see you. He had no prior appointment and he's not on record."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, "But it's past five, didn't you lock up the front after Boot left?"

"I did," the woman insisted, "But he began pounding on the door and wouldn't go away. When I asked him what his issue was, he said that he was too flustered to explain and wasn't going to leave before seeing you. I tried to get him to just make an appointment but he refused so I let him into the waiting room until you were done. I couldn't quite catch his name either... It was something eccentric."

"Alright. Thanks Cho," Hermione smiled slightly. The woman nodded shortly and resumed flipping through files. Hermione always felt that Cho secretly loathed her, but her blank faces never gave anything away. Cho was a hard worker and beyond intelligent, which Hermione admired, so she ignored any sense of spite the woman had against her.

Hermione traveled the short distance around reception to the door leading to the waiting room. She entered, her gaze falling upon a man with shocking white blonde hair. He stood up and strode towards her, grabbing her hand to place a gentle kiss on her caramel skin.

"Finally!" he gasped in a proper English accent, bright eyes landing on her frame, "I've been waiting _eons_ for you to show."

"I apologize, sir, but we're closed now. You can make an appointment with my reception-"

"Yeah, that's all well and good but you don't understand, _this_ ," the man opened his mouth and gestured towards his front tooth with a noticeable chip, "is a problem that _must_ be fixed immediately!"

"I'm sorry, Mr...?"

"Abraxas," he supplied, "Abraxas Malfoy."

"Well, _Abraxas_ , it is well after closing time and we open tomorrow at nine, so you're welcome to come back then. I'm sure spending one more night with your tooth won't kill you."

"But it _will_ , luv! It _will_ ," he whined, eyes the size of saucers as he placed his hand on her shoulders and shook her, "You don't understand! I need this to be fixed _noooooow!_ "

"Excuse me, sir! Unhand me!" Hermione barked, backing away from the crazy man, "You don't get to make the rules here; that's my job. Now, I have already told you that we aren't taking anymore people today-"

" _Pleeaasssee!_ I have a _really_ important date tonight and I can't show up like this!" he cried, "I'll pay you upfront. Bloody hell, I'll pay you double! You're the closest dentist I could find and I haven't been to one in four years. _Please!_ "

Hermione was dumbfounded. Four years? That's ridiculous! She'd be surprised if the chipped tooth was the only problem he had. She bit her lip, weighing her options: Hermione didn't like that the lunatic showed up demanding things and had the nerve to _manhandle_ her, but all the same, he looked pretty desperate and by helping him she had a valid excuse to show up late to her 'fun' night plans at The Burrow.

"Fine," she harrumphed, "But I swear I will kick your pretty ass out of here if you put your hands on me again."

"Deal!" He said, holding his hands up surrender and taking an extra step away from her.

Hermione led the blonde lunatic from the waiting room to the back rooms, stopping at the examination room Terry Boot was in earlier.

"Take a seat," she gestured towards the reclined chair.

"I really appreciate this, lass," Abraxas said as he settled down.

"I prefer to be called Dr. Granger," she corrected, pulling latex gloves over her hands. She looked down at him, realizing how attractive Abraxas was. He was deathly pale and in dire need of a tan, but she chalked that up to him being English. He had a long, slim form with taut muscles straining against the fabric of his white t-shirt.

"Whatever you say, luv," he grinned, teeth gleaming under the light she adjusted in front of him. Hermione huffed, pulling on her mask, and set to work. In addition to a chipped tooth, Abraxas had three cavities and she was pretty sure that one of them would require a root canal.

" _What?_ " he had gasped in horror when she broke the news to him.

"That's what you get for waiting four years to go to the dentist! What is that about, anyway?" she scolded him.

"I moved to The States four years ago all by my lonesome and didn't have my mother breathing down my back, pressuring me to go. I bloody hate dentists. Sadistic ogres the lot of them."

She raised a brow at him.

"Oh, not you luv! You seem like an absolutely lovely bird. Proper fit, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You'd look even better if it weren't for that bushy hair. Don't you do anything to it?"

" _Hey!_ "

"No offense, darling, but I'd say it could use a good deep conditioning."

The bushy haired dentist scoffed.

"Trust me, I've seen my fair share of split ends and breakage, but yours is _horrid_."

"What, are you a hairstylist, or something?" she snorted.

"Precisely so," he answered, examining his manicured nails, "Are you going to get started anytime soon? Time's a tickin' and my date is in an hour."

Hermione narrowed her eyebrows in annoyance and got to work on bonding his tooth. Abraxas was probably the only person that has ever told her to her face about the unruly state of her hair. Yeah, kids teased her about how big and bushy it was when she was in elementary school, but they never said it to her face. Hermione was a bit… unapproachable in school. Of course she had friends, but she's been told that she can be _abrasive_ at times. She thought she should be offended by Abraxas' comment but instead found his honesty refreshing, especially since he claimed to be an actual hairstylist, so his opinion was valid.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione pulled the suction tool out of Abraxas' mouth and pulled her mask off.

"You're all set," she told him. Abraxas jumped up from the reclined chair and jetted to the mirror in front of the sink. Quickly examining his front tooth up close, Abraxas turned around and beamed at her.

"It's perfect! Thanks, doc! You are _such_ a life saver!"

"Don't go thanking me just yet – I could only place a composite filling for now on such short notice. You can chew on it, but don't go munching away on anything hard, like candy, because it may become loose and fall out."

Abraxas frowned at this.

"We can, however, schedule an appointment for you in a week to get a permanent crown in place. And while you're here, we can also see about filling in some of those cavities and eventually perform a root canal on that one molar of yours in the back."

"Sounds all well and good, lassie," he smirked at her, "You know, I've been told in the past that I've got quite the panty-dropping smile.

"Please, Mr. Malfoy, refrain from being crude and must you insist on calling me these endearments? We are in a professional setting and must act like it."

"Sure, sure, lo-Dr. Granger," he quickly corrected, seeing the stern look on her face. Hermione escorted him out of the examination room and to the front desk, where Cho took down his personal information and insurance information. Hermione retrieved her bag from behind the desk and bid Cho a good night before exiting the building and heading towards her car.

"Hey doc! Wait up!" she heard the English accent from across the lot. She turned to face the crazy man.

"Once again, I really appreciate you taking me in."

"It's no problem, Mr. Malfoy. Just doing my job."

"Please, call me Abraxas, luv," he grinned, dimples denting in his cheeks, "And allow me to repay you in more ways than just my insurance number. I really _am_ a hairstylist and–"

"Mr. Malfoy, if this has anything to do with the state of my hair, then you should stop while you are ahead."

"Don't be that way, lass! I could do wonders for you! Here, take my card. When you decide you want to finally tame that mane of yours, just pop on over. No appointment need. I usually work most days so feel obliged to swing on by," he offered, winking at her as he slid a business card into her hand.

Hermione sighed and accepted the card.

The blonde man offered her another one of his large toothy grins before cursing, "Shite! I'm late for my date! So long, doc!"

And with that, the oddball disappeared around the corner of the building and Hermione got into her car, braving herself for a long night ahead of fake smiles and restrained hatred for a certain redhead and his idiot bride.


	2. Part Two

**N/A:** First off, let me say THANK YOU for all your lovely reviews! I didn't expect to get such a good response! This story idea was and _still is_ so out there for me... I'm definitely not in my comfort zone. For that reason, writing this was harder than it should have been. Please ignore any grammar mistakes and enjoy this unbeta'd mess! Part Three is already written and in the editing phase. I'll try to get it up by next week. Also, you guys should expect another chapter of APoS sometime this week _._

Tell me if y'all like it or think it's utter trash! But please do, be kind about it as you always are :)

* * *

 _Part Two_

 **Keep a Civil Tongue  
**

* * *

Finding parking in New York is as bad as trying to find a needle in a haystack. Probably worse, actually. Even with her substantial salary, Dr. Hermione Granger was quite the cheapskate and refused to pay fifteen dollars for something as ridiculous as a parking space. With that mindset, she drove around the city streets of SoHo for the majority of half an hour before deciding to park her car in a Burger King three blocks away from her destination.

She hopped out of her vehicle and slammed the door shut, huffing in annoyance. When Hermione had woken up this morning, she had felt completely normal. She went through her daily motions and then left for work. She liked her routine; routine was good. So when she got a call from Pavarti Patil, Lavender Brown's shrew of a maid of honor (they never got on well, you see), informing her that the entire bridal party would be having an early dinner set at one of Manhattan's nicer restaurants, she was a bit peeved. No, she didn't want to go, but she _had_ agreed that she would be a bridesmaid and she wanted to prove that she could at _least_ be civil.

Dinner, she could handle.

So, she had left the office an hour early, went back to her house and spent the majority of an hour picking out the perfect outfit for tonight. Hermione was never one to focus on looks - reason being why the majority of her closet consisted of scrubs, slacks, and crisp blouses she wore for work. When she wasn't working, she was known to wear simple tops with her trusty pair of jeans that she had since her first year in college. Not exactly flattering, she knew, which was why she pulled out a dress from the back of her closet that her mother had gotten her for her birthday years ago, but never put it to use. It was a simple long sleeved dress, which Hermione didn't have a problem with. What she _did_ have a problem with, however, was the body-con cut of the dress and the crimson red of the fabric. A bit out there for the homely dentist, but Hermione decided that she if she was going to have to surround herself around idiots tonight, including her pea-brained ex-boyfriend, she was going to look damn well good doing it.

Let's show the ginger what's he missing, right?

.

.

.

Don't misunderstand her, though, Hermione is _wayyy_ over Ronald.

.

.

Definitely.

 _Yup._

Over him.

Over _it_.

Them.

 _Done._

…Anyway…

Three hours to go before the dinner began, she decided to start her hair early because Lord knows how long _that_ will take. Hermione, however, was up for the challenge.

Can't be that hard, right?

She struggled for all of thirty minutes before she lost her five bobby pins in her hair, used a whole can of hair spray, all of which resulted in a tangled mess.

She gave up and admitted defeat.

And Hermione Granger _never_ admits defeat.

Fishing the pins out, Hermione remembered the offer from that blonde madman from the week previous. She didn't know what to make of Abraxas Malfoy. Yes, he was may be quite insane, but could he really help her tame the beast otherwise known as Hermione Granger's hair? A search in her purse for his business card and a quick Google search had solved that issue for Hermione and she set out of her house and into the city to take the blonde up on his offer.

She was desperate, after all, and she needed to make sure she brought that ginger weasel to his _knees_.

Moving back to the present, Hermione walked down those three blocks, passing the Burger King on the way, and finally reached the outside of **Marvolo's** , where she hesitantly stepped into the stuffy atmosphere. The salon was bustling with a thick aroma of various hairsprays and heat radiating from a multitude of blow dryers and straighteners. She stood at the door for a moment, trying to find that shock of blonde hair somewhere around the spacious floor that was filled with a number of hair dressers and their snobbish looking clients. Hermione could immediately tell that this place was really, _really_ high class.

"Hi," Hermione greeted the man behind the counter at the front desk, "I'm looking for an Abraxas Malfoy?"

When he looked up and caught her eye, Hermione's heart almost stilled. He was strikingly beautiful. He had these deep, dark eyes that were framed with the longest eyelashes she had ever seen on a man. They were accompanied two equally dark brows that put Hermione's sparse, waxed ones to shame. He could have easily came off of one of the style magazines that many of number of patrons were currently flipping through.

The man pulled on the white stick hanging out of his mouth, revealing a bright green lollipop that must have been apple flavored. He scrunched up his nose and eyed her, "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't. But I was told –"

"You can't be seen without an appointment," he interrupted, popping the lollipop back in between his full lips.

It seemed that the world wanted to try Hermione's patience today.

"Yes, I understand that," Hermione began slowly, "But I was told by – "

"Well whoever told you made a mistake. We don't take walk-ins," he spoke, eyeballing Hermione as if she were something the cat dragged in. "You can try Super Cuts down the block, though. They're probably more your speed."

" _What-_ "

"Hey Bella, how do you get to Super Cuts from here?" he yelled across the room to an older woman who was painting a younger girl's nails.

"They're at the corner of Broadway and 52nd!" the Bella woman shouted back.

The rude receptionist turned back to Hermione.

"You heard her. Do you need me to write that down?" he asked Hermione, raising a brow on his pretty yet bored looking face.

"No, _thank you,_ but what you _can_ do for me is get up off of your ass and go find Abraxas for me like I asked you to earlier," Hermione answered sweetly.

" _Excuse_ me?" The asshole scoffed, withdrawing the lollipop from his mouth once more.

"And while you're at it, why don't you throw out that damn lollipop you're sucking on? How can you just _sit_ there and coat your teeth in pure sugar? Have you even _considered_ the consequences? Cavities aren't a joke, sir. For a salon with such class, I'm surprised they would allow stupidity in their establishment."

The man stared at her blankly, seemingly speechless before he gathered himself.

"What the hell are you _on_ about? Are you–"

"Hermione, _darling_ , there you are!" the blonde Brit she was searching for skipped towards her, coming to a halt only to smack a wet one on both sides of her cheek.

"Mr. Malfoy, that was in no way appropriate!" she grumbled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeves.

"I told you, luv, call me Abraxas! 'Mr. Malfoy' is far too formal for such an environment," he drawled in that proper accent of his. "I've got it from here, Tom," he said, saluting the ass behind the counter, "Now let's see what we can do to tame this beast of yours."

Abraxas led the wild haired dentist to an open sink station in the corner of the room.

"You're receptionist is a horrible man," she told him.

"Who? Tom?" he shrugged, "He just cares about our image, is all."

Hermione ignored the fact that Abraxas just revealed that having someone like her in their salon would normally ruin their image.

 _Ouch._

"I did some research on you," Hermione changed topics, settling into the black chair as the blonde pulled all of her frizzy strands from her neck into the sink.

"You Googled me?" Abraxas smiled, pumping shampoo into his hand and turning on the faucet, "Find anything interesting?"

"Apparently, Abraxas Malfoy is the new, up and coming hairdresser of Manhattan. He left London behind to start his own business, but instead, partnered with the owner of the renowned **Marvolo's** and _voilà_! Four years later, here you are in this fancy schmancy salon filled with bitchy looking clientele and prices for hair dye out the ass."

His resounding laughter was too high pitched for a grown man his age.

"You've done your research well, luv. And a hundred and fifty for a good dye job is _completely_ worth it! They're really hard to come by these days, you know."

"Yes, of course. Because who just picks up hair dye at a nearby bodega anymore? And for less than ten dollars? That would just be _ridiculous_!" she said sarcastically, closing her eyes as his fingers began working the shampoo into her scalp.

"Precisely!" Abraxas exclaimed, completely missing her tone. "That's what I have been trying to tell everyone! If you want your color to come out healthy and long lasting, spending a few extra pounds won't hurt!"

"Agreed. They should make a law to ban them from being sold in stores. Maybe we should make a public service announcement warning people around the nation about the horrors that may come from boxed hair dye."

His hands stilled in her mass of hair.

She cracked one eye open, "What?"

Slate gray colored eyes stared back at her widely.

"Can we really?"

" _What?_ Of course not!"

"But think of the possibilities, doc," he continued excitedly, resuming his work on her hair, "We could make a petition and then send it to Parliament!"

"I'm sure the White House has more important things to worry about than hair color, Mal- _Abraxas_."

"Well, it was _your_ idea," he harrumphed, "We'll just put it on the back burner for now. Besides, I'm pretty sure you have to be a citizen to do that."

That made Hermione's eyebrows shoot up to her forehead.

"You're not a citizen?"

"Not yet, anyway," he said, rinsing out the shampoo, "But that's not the point. Now, whatever are we going to do with this lovely mane of yours?"

"I haven't a clue," she huffed, "I was at home fighting with it for half an hour before I remembered the card you gave me."

"Good thing you did – I'm sure you would have ruined it. You didn't try to brush it out, did you?"

"Of course I did."

" _Bloody hell_ , do you know _nothing_ about hair?"

Hermione snorted, "What could possibly be wrong with brushing it?"

"Hermione, luv, each hair texture requires a different sort of attention. To detangle _your_ hair, you must use a wide toothed comb first – start from the ends, not the roots! – And _only_ then, can you brush it out in smaller sections. You know, for such a smart lass, you'd think you would know better," Abraxas chastised, massaging conditioner into her hair and shoving her locks into a plastic cap, "Now, let's get you under the dryer."

"But you haven't washed out the conditioner yet!"

Abraxas brought one pale hand to his heart, "Your ignorance truly pains me."

"But I-"

"Shh… don't speak," He cut her off, index finger mushing her lips closed, "I really don't feel like being disappointed any more today."

Hermione rolled her eyes but followed him across the salon floor once more.

* * *

"What a manky, desperate, attention-seeking, backstabbing trollop of a woman!"

"My thoughts exactly," Hermione agreed with a sigh, grimacing when Abraxas roughly combed a knot out of her hair.

While Abraxas had worked on her hair, Hermione had unloaded all her problems to him. She was hesitant to at first, but Abraxas seemed more than interested and she figured she could trust him. It felt nice to let out all of her bottled up frustration since she didn't really have anyone to talk to about it. She would have tried with her friend Ginny, but she also happened to be Ronald's sister. It wasn't exactly decent to rant about your ex to his sister, was it? Talking to Harry was out of question; he always sided with Ronald, anyway. She did try with Cho once on a particularly slow day at the office, but Cho wasn't having any of that – she claimed she was too swamped in work to discuss such 'trivial matters.'

"Well, with help from me, we'll make you look _so_ good that this Lav-Lav bint will appear as nothing more than mere trash on the streets."

"Thanks, Abraxas," Hermione began, flinching again as he rolled her hair into large pink curlers, "You're truly heaven-sent."

"I know," he grinned, "Now, onto an important matter. How do you feel about highlights?"

* * *

Much later, Hermione's hair was finally finished. Her normal frizzy, chestnut colored hair was now trimmed and adorned with honey highlights and fell in loose, effortless curls.

"See? Not one split end in sight."

"Abraxas," Hermione breathed in shock as she ran her fingers through her luscious locks, "This is amazing! I don't even… how did you do this?"

"Very carefully," the blonde smirked, fluffing her curls out.

She thanked Abraxas and even allowed the 'tosser' to plant kisses on both her cheeks. Hermione hurried home and got changed into the her dinner outfit, red dress hugging her curves, and got ready to leave for the subway. She would drive there instead, but Hermione knew a _lot_ of alcohol would be required to get through this dinner without stabbing someone, rendering her incapable of safely operating a vehicle. She took one last look at herself all dolled up through her body length mirror.

 _Oh, yes,_ Hermione thought, doing a quick spin, careful not to twist her ankles in her heels, _that fake-ass bimbo and redheaded moron definitely won't see this coming._

Not that she cared about what they thought, of course.

That would be ridiculous.


	3. Part Three

**A/N:** Here's another! Shorter, but part three, nonetheless.

The separated parts in _italics_ represent what happened in the past, in case you don't pick up on it, and obviously, everything outside of italics are from the present.

Also, I lied. I said this may be told in five parts. This may actually take more than five. By how much? Who knows.

As usual, please do tell me what you think! Your reviews give this story life.

* * *

 _Part Three_

 **Being Down in the Mouth  
**

* * *

Hermione Granger was a bit intoxicated.

 _*BANG BANG*_

"Mr. Malfoy!" she shouted, banging her hand on the door to **Marvolo's**.

 _*BANG BANG BANG*_

"ABRAXAS! I-I… _know_ you're in there!"

Alright – so, she was _more_ than a bit intoxicated. Shameful, right? If it were under any other circumstances that she stumbled her way down the dark streets of Manhattan in stilettos with smudged mascara and dried tears upon her cheeks, Hermione would've been appalled.

She was above such shameful behavior.

Normally.

Tonight, however, was an exception.

 _*BANG BANG BANG BANG*_

"Open up!"

.

.

 _When Hermione arrived to the VIP room of Manhattan's finest restaurant for dinner, she felt smug. She knew that she looked good and she simply radiated that confidence. It was with that confidence that she was able to stomach the bear hug that Lavender caught her in as soon as she had stepped foot in the door. She was even able to civilly greet Ron, albeit after some liquid encouragement, and smiled politely – a tad strained, yes, but a smile nevertheless – at the rest of the Weasley clan._

 _It was all worth it, though. Upon seeing Hermione's sexy, yet tasteful appearance, accompanied with the lustrous curls tumbling down her back (not a frizz in sight!), Ron's facial expressions could only be described as gobsmacked. If it wasn't for his best man, Harry, who jammed his elbow into the ginger idiot's arm, Ron's jaw certainly would have remained on the floor._

 _So yes, Hermione's night began without a hitch. She finally felt good about herself and had reveled in the shocked stares she was getting from the rest of the bridal party and the appreciative stares from the restaurant's (mostly) male staff._

.

.

 _*BANG BANG*_

"MR. MALFOY!"

.

.

 _She felt so good that even when that poor excuse of a human being (also known as Lav-Lav's maid of honor), Pavarti, had nastily greeted her, "Hermione! So glad you could make it! Wow, don't you look…_ nice _. Maybe if you had taken more time to look presentable for your man, it'd be you with that ring on your finger instead of Lavender."_

 _Hermione grinned tightly and accepted the backhanded compliment graciously. She then proceeded to fake a quite powerful sneeze and accidentally spilled most of her margarita all over Pavarti's cheap outfit._

 _"Oops," Hermione uttered innocently, "My apologies, I must be allergic to_ bitch _."_

 _Flipping her long, honey curls over her shoulder, she had strutted away before getting caught by Luna Loovegood, another bridesmaid, in pleasant conversation about work._

.

.

 _*BANG BANG BANG*_

"MALFOY!"

.

.

 _Hermione was content for the majority of the night. No, she was still pissed off that her presence was required, but when dinner was served, she was conveniently seated next to Harry and Luna, both of whom definitely made the experience less horrible. She maintained control of herself and her emotions all the way until…_

 _Well, until the incident._

 _Everyone was out of their seats and conversing, once more. Lavender had just finished eating dessert while speaking to Seamus Finnegan, groomsmen, about something mundane. He offered to order her a drink from the small bar in their corner of the room and she declined. Seamus, however, insisted, and all but shoved a glass of champagne in her face, ignoring Lavender's protests. Ronald, seeing this, decided to step in._

 _And it was at this time that Hermione, who was originally across the room, had made her way to their side of the VIP room, headed to the bar to get another margarita and now in earshot of the three._

 _"She said she's good, bruh," Ron said, wrapping his arm around Lavender's waist._

 _"But we all know she's killing herself over planning the wedding. The girl needs to wind down and what better of a way than with a good ol' brewsky?"_

 _"I know, Seamus, and I appreciate you looking out for me. It's… it's just that I_ can't _."_

 _That had caught Hermione's attention._

 _"What do you mean you can't? It's just one drink."_

 _"What I mean is –" Lavender had paused to look at Ron. The ginger nodded in approval._

 _"We're pregnant!" She whisper-yelled to Seamus, "But don't tell anyone! It'll be our little secret!"_

 _Hermione was sure no one but herself and Seamus had heard Lavender's confession, but what happened next gathered the attention of everyone in the room._

CRASH!

 _Hermione's new beverage now lay at her feet along with the broken glass that once held it. All eyes were on her as she stared at the happy couple, whom confusingly stared back at her. She could feel her hand sting and the warmth of blood trailing down her fingers._

 _Needless to say, that made for a very awkward disappearance to the restroom where the first onset of tears began to well up in her eyes. She didn't allow them to fall, however, rather she bandaged her hand, fixed her makeup, put on a brave face, rejoined the party, claimed clumsiness for her earlier actions, and proceeded to knock back another drink._

 _"Give me something strong," she told the bartender who was ready to pass her another margarita. Instead, he handed her a bone dry martini. One martini turned into three._

 _Hermione waited until the end of the night to finally make her leave and it was on her walk back to the subway that she had allowed her tears to fall free. She wasn't paying proper attention, though – most likely due to her drunken stupor – and made more than a few wrong turns before she found herself in front of the kooky Brit's hair salon._

.

.

 _*BANG BANG BANG*_

"It's me, D-Dr. Granger! Open _up_!" she hollered, relentlessly knocking on the front door of the darkened salon.

 _*BANG BANG*_

"I _know_ you can h-hear me, Abraxas!"

"For Christ's sake, lady, we can _all_ fucking hear you!" an angry voice bellowed from up above.

"Ex- _cuse_ me, sir, but I do not a-appreciate your t-tone!" she hiccuped, eyes narrowing in on the figure in the open window above the salon.

"And excuse me, you dumb broad, but I'm positive everyone living on this damned street, including myself, do not appreciate your insistent yapping at one in the fucking morning!"

"Well, I've never!" Hermione gasped at his cruel words before yelling back, "Why don't you come down here and stop me then, asshole!"

The man hanging his head out the window disappeared and the window slammed shut.

 _Ha!_ Hermione thought to herself, _I showed him._

Before she could continue her knocking on the salon's door again, it swung open, and a tall, devilishly attractive man appeared before her. Her breath got lost in her throat as she eyed his face.

"Leave. I will not hesitate to call the cops and have you arrested for disturbing the peace," he said slowly to her, enunciating every word.

Hermione blinked.

The man was wearing a dark gray hoodie, the hood drawn up halfway onto his head, blocking the full view of his hair except for the wavy locks that curled over his forehead boyishly. He wore black jogger sweatpants on his long legs and his black sock clad feet were tucked into a pair of Adidas slides.

" _Hey!_ You-you're that asshole receptionist!" she accused.

"Yeah, I am," he laughed humorlessly, "And I'm also that 'asshole' that's here to get you to leave before you wake up half of fucking Manhattan."

She blinked again.

"Did you hear me?" He asked, perfect brows narrowing in irritation, "Or are you so batshit crazy that you can no longer understand English?"

"I not only _heard_ , but I also com- _comprehended_ everything perfectly, you dick! I was just l-looking for my friend," she responding, hiccuping.

"Oh, dear Lord, are you _drunk?"_

"Of course, not! That would be highly unprofessional. I-I just–I may have had a _wee_ bit to drink."

"A _wee_ bit?" he snorted.

"Do you live here?" she blurted out.

"Obviously, it would seem so, drunkie."

"S–So, do you know where Abraxas is then?"

"Yes, I do, but he's not _here_ right now, so you can get the fuck _outta_ here," he snarled, allowing Hermione to hear a twinge of a Brooklyn accent in his otherwise smooth voice. "I wasn't kidding when I said I'd call the cops, lady."

"F- _fine_! I'll be going, then!" Hermione huffed, readjusting the handbag on her shoulder. She only took three steps down the sidewalk, the high heel of her shoes resounding throughout the empty street, before spinning back around.

"Just–can you tell Mr. Malfoy that–when you see him, _tell_ him his d-dentist was here to see him."

"Whatever, lady," he replied.

Head held high, Hermione turned around to resume her journey to the subway, only to stumble and crash down onto her knees.

" _Fucking hell,_ are you okay?" he asked, coming over to her prone form to offer his hand.

"I'm fine! I'm _fine,_ " she said, ignoring his helping hand and standing up on her heels unsteadily.

"Jesus Christ, maybe you should call a cab," he suggested, pulling his arm back to himself.

"Nope. No. I just-I think I need to sit. I-do you happen to have a cup of water? I need a drink."

The man sighed and ran his hand through the hair visible from his hood.

"Hold on a sec, will ya?" he replied, taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

Hermione watched as his long, pale fingers tapped the screen. He really was pretty, she thought, staring as he put the phone to his ear.

"Abraxas? . . . Yes, I am very much aware that it's nearly _two in the fucking morning_. . . I don't give a damn about your _date,_ Abraxas. . . Can you shut the fuck up for one second? Now listen, there's some woman here to see you – says that. . . wait, hold on –" he turned to Hermione, "What's your name?"

"H-Hermione," she stuttered, breaking out of her gaze. He really was quite beautiful. All high cheekbones, angular jaw – he could have literally walked off a runway. Well, not in _that_ outfit.

"Do you know a Hermione? . . . Crazy hair? Yeah, that looks like her," he said, glancing at her, "Well what the hell do you want me to do with her? . . . Abraxas, you _know_ how important tomorrow is, I can't just – . . . Are you kidding me? Of course I – . . . Fine. You're a little bitch, you know that, right?" he snarled before bringing the phone away from his ear and back into his pocket.

"Let's go," he growled, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the salon's door.

"Wait- _wait!_ "

" _What?_ "

"I can't just _go_ with you! You–you could be a murderer!"

"I'm not going to kill you, woman, I'm trying to help you. Now, I called Abraxas and he's on his way."

"Abraxas?"

"Yes, Abraxas. Glad to see you can actually follow along. Let's get inside now, I'm freezing my balls off and you don't look exactly warm in that," he sneered, eyeing the smooth expanse of the caramel skin that her dress didn't bother to cover.

He blinked away and unlocked the door to the empty salon. Gripping her wrist, he dragged her into the empty salon.

In hindsight, Hermione would think later on, that this wasn't the worst night of her life. The worst was _surely_ yet to come.


	4. Part Four

**A/N:** Hey all! Sorry for the massively late update. Holidays and writer's block and all that jazz... Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, Happy MLK Day, and Happy Almost Valentine's Day (and any holidays in between)! I love you all *muah muah* (those were kisses in case you couldn't tell). Thanks to everyone for the feedback!

Can I just say that I am utterly surprised at how well the response has been to this story? You guy are amazing! This story has nearly 100 alerts and 50 favorites, and we're only on part four! Like, I'm amazed. You guys are awesome.

* * *

 _Part Four_

 **No Skin Off My Teeth**

* * *

She was beginning to sweat.

Hermione was currently sat on a leather salon chair in front of a vanity with an ice cold bottle of Fiji water in hand, staring at herself in the mirror. It was a bit funny, she mused, how just eight hours ago she had been in this exact seat and was transformed into a bombshell beauty. Now, Hermione bore a prominent resemblance to a troll doll. She gathered moisture from the perspiring water bottle onto her index finger and used it to wipe the smudged mascara from under her eyes.

A snort was heard from across the room.

Hermione whipped her head towards the mocking noise, which resulted in her brain to rattle around in her skull painfully. She closed her eyes as the world spun in her blurry vision and opened her eyes to refocus on the man lounging at the nail station adjacent to her seat, typing away on his sleek laptop.

" _What?_ " she snapped.

He didn't bother to look in her direction, yet continued to peck in a steady pace at his keyboard, and snarled, "You're going to need much _more_ than your thumb to make yourself the least bit decent."

Hermione huffed, slightly insulted – only slightly because she knew full and well that he was right.

She tried to think of a witty response, but came up short and resolved for grumbling, "Well, it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone _here_."

"Obviously, not," the man snorted again.

Hermione decided that at that moment, she had reached rock bottom. Here she was, a successful business woman, who can do for herself, reduced to relying on a complete stranger to watch over her in place of her newly found _hairdresser_ , of all people.

She pondered what the fuck went wrong in the past few hours – the past few months, really – that led her to this point. She wasn't ready to face the possible answers, however, and she was still far too hammered to deeply self-reflect at the moment. So, Hermione decided not to dwell on it and to wait patiently for Abraxas to come retrieve and escort her home. Normally, she would reject such an idea – she wasn't some _weakling_ who needed a man to walk her home – but after her stumble earlier, she was not sure she trusted in her motor skills just yet.

Hermione blinked away the shameful tears forming in her eyes and kicked her stilettos off her sore feet. Well, until Abraxas arrived, she figured she may as well converse with the raven-haired twit to distract her from her inner turmoil.

"What are you typing?" Hermione rasped, throat dry. She uncapped the Fiji she still held in her hand and took a small swig.

"Nothing that could possibly be of any interest to you."

She got up from the leather chair, her bruised knees aching as she struggled to find her balance.

"Y-you're such a douche, you know that?" she slurred, "You don't even _know_ me."

He didn't bother responding.

" _Come on_ ," she tried again, slowly tottering over to where he sat, "Try me, pretty boy."

He glanced up at Hermione when she reached him and raised one flawlessly threaded brow at the nickname.

"Well?" she pressed, leaning against the smooth edge of the table.

He let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through the dark curls peaking from his hoodie.

"Nothing. Just some business for the salon."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What _biz-ness_ must be attended to this late?" she questioned, turning in her position against the table to squint at his laptop screen.

"No business of _yours_ ," he spat, tilting his laptop away from her eye.

"It can't be that important," Hermione went on, ignoring the glare he set upon her, "If it were, Abraxas wouldn't just let _anyone_ do it."

"And what the fuck does that mean?" he scowled at her.

"It- _it_ means that you're just a secretary," she winced at how snooty that sounded. Secretaries were very important, she thought, thinking of Cho and how lost she'd be without her. But she never gave Cho a work load that would leave her up this late at night. And at that, he was working for a freaking _hair salon_ , not a dentistry. Really, how hard could it be? "I'd be surprised – v- _very_ – surprised if Abraxas gave you _that much_ work."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not a fucking _secretary_."

"Secretary. Receptionist. Same thing."

The man (what was his name again? Ted? Tim? Damned if she could remember) shot daggers at her. Honestly, what was his deal? Here she was, trying to have a decent conversation with him and he just did _not_ want to cooperate.

He all but growled at her, "I'm not. A fucking. Secretary."

Before she could open her mouth and assure him that there was nothing wrong with being a secretary, that secretaries made decent livings, he cut across her.

"I own this damn place," he announced angrily, gesturing around the parlor with his hands.

"Wha?" Hermione responded inelegantly, tilting her head to the side.

"I own this salon," he spoke each word slowly, as if she was hard of hearing.

"You own **Marvolo's**? I thought Abrax-"

"You really are slow, aren't you?" he interrupted her again, all but hissing, "Yes, I own **Marvolo's**. And I _employ_ Abraxas... _Christ_ , I fucking _am Marvolo!_ "

How - _How_ dare he use that tone with her? And how dare he call her slow? Yes, she admits to being thoroughly drunk. Maybe she'd even admit to being _slightly annoying._ She had been told before, by Ron, no less, that she can be quite emotional and a chatterbox when intoxicated, but what did that buffoon know? Maybe if he had actually paid attention to her when sober, she wouldn't have felt a need to run his ears off.

Unfortunately, her mind was still partially clouded, and instead of retorting something nasty back at him like she would normally be inclined to do, she settled for, "I thought your name was Ted."

Hermione swore she could a mean, cartoon-ish looking vein throbbing from its place on his temple as he gritted his teeth, "It's _Tom_. My middle name is Marvolo."

"Ah!" she exclaimed, tapping her head in remembrance of his name, "I was close."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Marvolo. Mar- _vo_ -lo. Is–is that Italian?" she pondered aloud.

"It's Spanish, actually," he answered, bringing his hand away from his face to scowl at her, "Not that it's of any concern to you. And back the fuck up, would you? I can legit smell the booze off your breath – it's _disgusting._ You know, come to think of it, _why_ are you even over here?"

Hermione glared at him and tried not to focus on how the word 'over' came out of his mouth as 'ovah'.

"I–" she began, but was cut off once again by his smooth voice that was getting progressively less smooth, and more and more rough by the second.

"Why the hell did I even let you in here?" he grumbled, raking a hand through his dark locks again, "I don't have time for _this_ , or for _you_."

"You didn't have to. I was p- _perfectly_ fine on my own–"

"If it weren't for me owing Abraxas a solid, your ass probably would've gotten arrested for yelling like a fucking banshee in the middle of the night."

"I do _not_ sound like a banshee!"

"Or even better, you would've done us all a favor and stumbled out into the middle of the street and gotten hit by a car. But _nooo_ , I just had to be the Good Samaritan–"

" _Good Samaritan? Oh_ please, you self-righteous–"

"–and save you from possible solitary confinement and or death. You should be _thanking_ me by staying out of my hair–"

"Just _trying_ to make polite _conversation_ –"

"Yet, here you are, interrupting and insulting my work. Do you even _know_ who I am? I am a famous hairstylist and fashion _extraordinaire_ –"

"Funny, when I've never even _heard_ of you before–"

"I have an important meeting tomorrow morning. I do _not_ have time to babysit an insolent, drunken troll doll–"

" _Hey!_ " Hermione let out indignantly, slapping him hard on the arm. His dark eyes flashed as his hand shot out and caught her wrist before she could pull it away.

"Don't _hit_ me, broad."

"Then don't _insult_ me, dick."

The intensity in which they glowered at each other was through the roof and created a tense silence in the salon, only the sound of their breathing filling the air.

A moment passed before Tom released his hold on her wrist.

"This is stupid," he muttered, reverting his harsh stare to the screen of his laptop and continued his typing.

Hermione pushed herself away from the table she rested against and wobbled back to her seat. She rubbed at the spot on her wrist where he had grabbed her, skin burning as evidence of his rough touch on her skin.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ the word floated around in her head as she sat back down onto the leather chair and closed her eyes.

He was right.

This _is_ stupid.

Her stupid feet ached from her stupid stilettos. Her dress was stupidly tight and she was sure that she must have had stupid small sweat stains under her stupid armpits. Not to mention, her stupid head swam even though she was sitting still.

 _Damn it all!_

Never has anything in life, right now, been more stupid than this moment.

Tom was stupid too.

But oh, Christ, Hermione was the _stupidest_ of them all.

And then the stupid Earth won't stop spinning and her stupid stomach keeps roiling from the alcohol she had ingested an hour ago and –

 _Oh._

Oh _no._

Hermione shot out of her seat faster than any bullet and leaped towards the closest trash can she could find. Her throat felt tight as she hacked into the small bin and groaned at the burn it left in her throat, though the pressure on her head seemed to lessen. Hermione didn't even hear as the furious typing stopped and a cool hand came around her neck to gather the massive amount of hair away from her face.

" _Fuck,"_ Tom murmured, "What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?"

She finished gagging and shut her eyes while she rested her head around the plastic bin. The next thing she knew, something was being wrapped around her bushy hair and she heard Tom's deep voice muttering something in an odd language.

" _No puc creure que estic fent això. Vaig a matar aquest idiota rossa._ "

She swallowed thickly, wrinkling her nose at the taste.

"What?" she managed to croak, confused.

"Clean yourself up," he grumbled, lobbing a piece of cheap, brown paper towel at her head. It landed in between her neck and chin. She grabbed at it and clumsily wiped at the crud on her face before throwing it in the bin she rested on.

"Thanks," she slurred, "You know what? I'm feeling _much_ better already."

"I'm sure you do," he responded dryly, quickly checking his phone before returning, "Come on, drunkard, let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

Tom rolled his eyes before hauling the girl up slowly from her slumped position on the bin. She leaned heavily on his shoulder and he aided her in slowly making it to the door that led to the set of stairs up to his store front apartment. Tom was feeling impatient, however, and dipped down to cup the back of her knees, sweeping her up in his arms bridal style. The woman let out a small _eep!_ in surprise before weakly hitting his chest in protest.

"Stop that. You are not in a position to walk up the stairs without falling down and breaking your neck."

She harrumphed and stopped her protesting, realizing he was one hundred percent right.

 _Damn him_ , she thought, _Damn him and his pretty face and... what the hell is that in his mouth?_

As Tom climbed up the stairs with Hermione settled in his arms, a white stick hung from between his full lips. Hermione grasped onto it and gave it a tough yank. She pulled it out of his mouth with a 'pop' and revealed a bright red lollipop.

" _The fuck?_ " Tom growled, swiping his pink tongue over those shiny, artificially cherry colored lips.

"I should be _asking you_ that!" Hermione retorted, waving the lollipop in front of his face.

"It's a damn _Tootsie Pop_ ," he responded, somehow making it up the stairs and into his apartment with minor difficulty, even with the loss of his candy. He walked over to a couch in the middle of the room and dropped her from his arms. Hermione tumbled onto the cushions, but kept the offending candy raised in the air with one arm.

"How dare you!"

He raised one brow.

"What have your teeth ever done to _you_? Do you know how much refined sugar is in each of these? And then the middle is all gooey with that chocolate stuff and it just _sits_ there, stuck on your teeth and causes decay," she scolded. Hermione was quite proud that she was able to say all of that without the majority of the words being slurred.

"Oh, I forgot, you're a _dentist_ ," he recalled mockingly, swiping his lollipop from her hand and placing it back in his mouth. "Stay here and don't touch anything," he commanded, walking briskly out the door and back down the stairs into the salon.

Hermione glared at his retreating back, his broad shoulders stretching against the soft cotton of his hoodie.

Who did he think he was? Telling her to 'stay here,' like she was a damned dog. Hermione was a lot of things, but she was definitely not a _bitch_. She hopped off the couch rebelliously and looked around the simple, yet nicely decorate apartment. She swallowed again as she took in her surrounding and grimaced at how horrendous her mouth tasted.

 _That asshole_ has _to have mouthwash somewhere_ , she thought, padding down the small hallway.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Come on, I'll be your Valentine if you do ;)**

 **Kisses,**

 **~ Soigne**


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